


The Unforgettable Fire

by The_Immigrant



Category: U2
Genre: 80's, 80s, 90'S, 90s, Adam Clayton - Freeform, Alternative Rock, Band, Bandom - Freeform, Bono/Edge - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Music, The Edge - Freeform, U2 - Freeform, bedge - Freeform, bono - Freeform, lardence, larry mullen jr. - Freeform, rock - Freeform, the_immigrant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:49:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Immigrant/pseuds/The_Immigrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**Explicit Content ;; Read at your own risk.**</p><p>This FF was co-written by The_Immigrant and I, each contributing an equal half of content. This content is not split directly in two halves, however, but all submissions that have been pieced together one by one.</p><p>      **<br/>Secrets are meant to be told, oaths are meant to be broken. Bono and the Edge have been friends for years, their bond unbreakable and their trust immovable. Amidst failing marriages and an upcoming tour, there is one dark, hidden truth which they must keep hidden from the piercing eyes of the world, their families, and their dearest friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER**
> 
> We do not own U2, it's members, material, quotes, songs, albums or any associated sources. This work of fiction is fictional (oh wow did not see that one coming), based on real events with minor (gay) tweaks. Enjoy.

December, 1991.

 

Ever since '84, the infamous Christmas party was the one tradition everyone actually enjoyed. Some years they didn't build snowmen, other years they might not make a gingerbread house. But the Christmas party was every. Fucking. Year. The same people came to the Christmas party, but you never really found out who they were. There were so many who came uninvited that you could never keep track. Not that it made much difference to Bono. As long as the band was there he couldn't care less who else decided to show up. It had always started around ten at night, held in a massive, abandoned, furniture warehouse, somewhere far off in the outskirts of Dublin. People would bring their own drinks, someone always supplied the music, and so on.   

Bono was late this year. Later than usual, for that matter. He had spent roughly an hour trying to get an ill Ali to accompany him, but despite "tradition", she had refused. So now he had to drive alone, her usual presence in the passenger seat replaced by large plastic bags filled with beer and champagne and eggnog and enough cigarettes to kill a man. By the time he had arrived to the rundown structure, he could already hear music blasting within its four walls, paired with the low hum of conversation. It was well nigh forty-five minutes into the festivities. Which meant the drunken Santa Claus would be coming around any minute. This, and not the thought of seeing his band mates, was what drove him to haste as he hopped out of his vehicle and headed inside with his things. If you missed the drunken Santa, you missed _everything_.

Parties may have been all fun and games for the singer, but for Edge, they weren’t that fantastic. Not just because he considered himself to be a bit of an introvert, but because every single bloody person expected him to be there. The press, (God knows how they got into that place), his friends, even Bono, for Christ's sake. Edge had things to do. He was a very important man. With an important job. And it seemed, yet again, there he was, partying at the request of his best friend, Paul Hewson.

Edge took a sip of his beer and sloshed it around, peering down the neck of the bottle to watch the murky liquid tumble over itself like the waters of the Liffey. David Howell Evans was thirty years old, and not getting any younger.

"So." A sharp voice broke his train of thought.

 _‘Not like it was going anywhere anyway,’_ he thought to himself.

A young woman approached him, plopping onto the sofa beside him. She was brunette, with hazel eyes, and a little, freckled nose.

"Hey, Gil." Edge stretched forward and put his cigarette out, sitting back with a grunt. His sister looked around as a few teenagers stumbled into the place.

"I want to go home."

"You can drive."

"I want _you_ to come home."

Edge sighed. He knew she'd say that. She didn't really stop.

"Oh please, Dave," she wriggled a little closer. "Dad misses you. So does Mum. Yer all out an' about, bein' a rockstar an' all that... But you don't visit as much anymore."

"I'm trying, Gil. It's just... Hard." Edge shook his head. "I'm just..."

"Preoccupied?" Gillian murmured, vaguely gesturing to the far right, where a very familiar face stumbled in.

_‘Bono. Well I'll be damned.’_

There was a certain way to go about the whole entrance business. The crowds seemed to work in layers. Like an onion, except they usually wouldn't make you cry, but they did smell funny, and they were much harder to break through. The first layer, in past experiences, always took the longest to get through. They were the needy ones, the people that had come for you and only for you. Random stalkers who claimed to have grown up with you, photographers and journalists who were expecting you to stop and give some deep insight on the new album, et cetera. They were always pushy, always getting in your face, standing in your path, doing everything they could to keep you from enjoying yourself. This time, by the good grace of the Almighty, he was able to slip in unawares and thus avoid these discourteous folk altogether.

Next came the second layer, not quite so menacing as the first, but still a nuisance. These were the people you hadn't seen in a year, the ones who wanted to catch up with you and ask how you were doing, as if the answer wasn't clear as fucking day. Here, he was stopped once or twice by a few friendly, somewhat unfamiliar, faces who were prepared to spend hours chatting away. He made excuses, they took the bait, and finally he was granted passage to the inner circle, the most intimate part of this onion. These were the people he not only knew, but was fond of. These people understood how the social hierarchy in here worked and knew this part of the warehouse was where all the fun was. He set his alcohol where all the other drinks were piled high on a coffee table, helped himself to some hard liquor, and turned towards where a bulk of the people were. He was looking for one person, just one. Besides drunken Santa. Edge. He had been dogging him about coming along tonight and thought for sure the guitarist would bail. But, to his pleasant surprise, there he was, on the couch, with his sister, looking quite glum. But he was here, and that was good enough.

"Having fun, Reg?" He called to him as he strode over. It was more of a rhetorical question, since he believed Edge to be incapable of having any fun if it didn't involve a guitar, but you know how the formalities go.

"Oh, buckets." Edge grinned, somewhat relieved to see the raggedy singer after their four week break. Gillian waved and murmured a greeting to Bono before wandering off to complain about her no good arse of a brother. Edge moved over on the couch, picking up his beer and downing the rest of it. The party was starting to stir, the volume becoming a bit louder. He wondered if he'd be able to sneak out without anyone noticing. But Bono always seemed to notice. Edge didn't know if he should've been grateful about that or not.

"Ali didn't come?" The answer was obvious. Bono's beautiful wife and the beanie-clad guitarist were very alike in the respect of social events. "How is she anyway? I haven't seen her much."

Bono rolled his eyes at the mention of his wife, and shook his head with a sour expression. "Couldn't. Told me she was sick, but I know she just didn't want to come," he said with a shrug, planting his rear end where Edge had made room on the sofa. He sank into the plush cushions, leather-clad shoes hoisting themselves up onto the table and drink nearly spilling over in the process. Bono was the last person here who needed to drink. It was no different than giving alcohol to a five year-old.

"But she's been doin' all right. She's excited to see you and the others," he added with a faint smile. Today was the 22nd. The band would usually spend at least some of Christmas and Christmas Eve together, wives included. They were practically a second family after all, better than actual family in some respects. Speaking of which, as he took a closer look around at some of the attendees, he noticed Aislinn wasn't present. She hadn't showed up last year either. The problems she and Edge had been having lately weren't secrets. "Aislinn couldn't make it either, huh?" His voice was cautious. 

Edge shook his head slightly, eyes distant and empty. "No," he grunted as he leant forward, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "No, we're..." He winced a little as the alcohol spilled onto the fresh cut on his ring finger. Which did not, incidentally, bear a ring. "Taking a break."

Everybody in the band knew about he and Aislinn. It was hard not to. Edge would often come to rehearsals, emotionally detached and drained, remaining quiet for weeks on end after fights and arguments. These things were hard to ignore. Even at social events, he and his wife would remain distant. Never talking. Smiling for photographs and holding hands for the papers. David Evans had considered himself single long ago.

But occasionally, his vows would return to haunt him.

Edge drank some whiskey and gazed over at Bono, who seemed occupied with his own glass of booze. He trusted Bono. Perhaps not with his life, but he had told him everything. And anything. Since the beginning. Bono was Edge's refuge, and in many ways, someone who he looked up to. Although Edge would never admit the fact that Bono's freedom and carefree attitude, flamboyancy and no-shits-given mindset infuriated him to the point of jealousy, he loved him. Like a brother. Even if he never hung up his towel.

Bono didn't respond to the news immediately, but he didn't look the least bit astonished. He had suspected that the two were parting ways. With the way things had been going, it was inevitable that their shaky foundation would eventually give way to the weight of their strife. It was a terrible misfortune, and it certainly put a damper on Bono's effervescent spirits, but maybe it was for the better. There had been a general feeling for quite some time now amongst him, Adam and Larry that Edge deserved someone better. It almost made him feel guilty, having someone as good as Ali. They had their arguments, no doubt, but she rarely lost her temper.

"Hey. Look at me," Bono nudged his arm, tilting his head a bit to get a better look at his eyes. Eyes said everything. Especially Edge's eyes. Those hazel hues could speak volumes without the utterance of a single word. "It's gonna work out just fine, all right? We'll be on the road soon enough and you won't even have to think about all that bullshit. Until then," he turned away, downing his drink and setting the glass on the table with a clink. "If you want, y'know, Ali and I have some spare rooms. I'm not asking you to move in, but if it's just one of those nights and you need a place to stay...you know where we keep the spare house keys," at this, he offered a weak smile, and stood up. "Maybe you should have something stronger to drink. Find someone to fuck with. Get your picture with Santa. Anything to lighten up," he suggested, fishing out a cigarette from his pocket. "If you need me, you can probably find me unconscious under some table in an hour and a half," he said. As much as he would have liked to stay, he had some civic responsibilities to attend to. And by civic responsibilities, I think we all know I mean snorting lines of cocaine and getting higher than a motherfucker. The usual. He was no addict, but hey. The Christmas party comes but once a year.

Edge couldn't help but smile and look away at Bono's words. They weren't exactly sage, but what could he say, the singer was a prophet. And as much as he'd love to stay with Bono and Ali, he could never do that. Never could he submit to that kind of helplessness.

_‘And he says he's stubborn.’_

"I'll keep an eye out for you. If I don't step on you first."

Edge gave a little wave as Bono left, leaving him to his own thoughts. And more alcohol. After a few more minutes, he stood up and wandered through the crowd, beer in hand and not much else on his mind. Part of him wanted to find Bono. Part of him said that was probably a bad idea. He felt a little like Luke Skywalker from that Star Wars sci-fi movie thing as he approached the outside, leaning against the railing and looking down at the water of the docks. The moon was high in the cloudy, dark sky and music pumped from the ground. Edge rested his head on the cold rails and slumped over them. Booze was great when you were sad. It made everything go away. Made everything numb. Edge felt numb. He felt like getting smashed, hammered, high, tripped, he felt like diving off of the dock and into the cold water. Maybe it'd wake him up from the nightmare of his life.

_‘Poetic. Sounds like something he'd write.’_

***

The hours seemed to overlap once Bono allowed himself to be vacuumed into the crowd like nothing more than a speck of dust. A few other people, including Adam and Larry, had invited him over to their little group at a table in the corner. Plenty of drink was passed around, as well as marijuana, courtesy of a certain blonde bassist. It wasn't crazy like some other parties had been. There were no massive orgies going on in the middle of the floor, no streaking, no tripping on acid. Bono had seen, and participated, in far worse. But hell, did he have a good time.

While Edge contemplated going on hypothermic swims, he sailed away on his happy cloud and consumed far more alcohol than he should have. By around midnight, he couldn't stop laughing, even as it rendered him breathless. He fell out of his chair once or twice. And, as intoxicated people will do, he told a lot of people that he loved them. Multiple times. By two o'clock in the morning or so, he was, as he said he'd be, asleep, but he'd managed to keep himself off the ground this time. Maybe because Adam had made it there first and taken up all the space. As everyone else slowly began to leave one by one, he remained, all by his little lonesome in the corner, and for one, no one paid him any mind.

Edge too, had fallen asleep somewhere along, and somehow ended up back on the sofa where he had started. He felt a little sick upon waking up. And his head was sore.

_‘Great.’_

People were still moping around, a few small groups chattering away into the night, bottles and bottles spread and smashed and - Edge squinted. A good few people had passed out. Making a sickly sound, he fell onto the ground, rolled onto all fours and almost, _almost_ vomited. His head swam and his jaw felt tingly. Someone was moaning somewhere as Edge stood up, dazedly making his way to the corner where Bono lay, slumped against the wall. An empty vodka bottle was slotted in hand. "Hey." He nudged him and pushed his own hair back, tying it up. "Hey." Edge repeated, shaking Bono's shoulder until he stirred. "Do you know what the time is?" Edge wanted to go home. He wanted to sleep. He didn't really care where.

"My feckin' head," were the first words to leave Bono’s mouth as he felt a violent throb pulsing against his skull. Had it been anyone else, _anyone else,_ all hell would have broken loose.

"Ehm..." he stared down at his wristwatch, the hands of the clock blurry, as he tried to focus on the small numbering. "Twenty after two," he rasped, reaching over for the pair of dark shades that had been tossed a few feet away from him. He shakily rose to his feet, his hands gripping Edge's shoulders for some balance. "Neither of us can drive, Edge. No one in this bloody room can drive," he said. He wanted to go home just as badly, but if they tried to return  home in their current state, there was no way they'd avoid an accident. And so close to Christmas...probably wasn’t the wisest risk to take.

"Yeah," Edge grunted and pulled Bono's arm around his shoulder for balance. "Yeah I know. I could call Gil, but she went home earlier. And I doubt she's awake."

His speech was surprisingly accurate, slurring here and there. Edge didn't much like being drunk. He certainly did not like the after effects. "I s'pose we could..." Edge gazed around, pulling Bono up a bit to keep him on his legs. "Walk to O'Donnell's? They've got rooms."

_‘And I don't really want to sleep here. Someone would probably step on me.’_

Bono, still too tired and too pained to voice a complete thought, nodded shortly, hands pushing back the dark tendrils of hair that fell about his forehead. "Right, let's get going then," he grunted, leaning his weight against the guitarist's body for support. A few people called out goodbye to them and wished them the happiest of holidays, but it likely came out as a drunken string of obscenities. Either way, Bono wasn't listening. The blood pounding in his ears was too loud. Besides having a killer migraine, his stomach felt completely void. Damn weed made him hungry.

And so they walked. Stumbled, really. Bono couldn't take five even steps without tripping over his own feet. O'Donnell's was but a mere three blocks down the road; it would have taken them fifteen minutes, had they been sober. It took about twice as long. He puked once along the way, just barely missing Edge's shoes, and the only thing he said was jumbled curses. His legs were heavy as cement blocks, back slouched with fatigue, out of breath even though they had gone at a slow pace. And worst of all, he had forgotten to get his picture with Santa. Not just any Santa, drunken fucking Santa. 


	2. Ali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the woman that's had to deal with Bono's bullshit for the last 40 years.

 

It had been a long journey to O’Donnell’s, but Edge and Bono did, _finally_ make it. More or less alive. “Easy there,” Edge grunted as he set his mate down on the bed. The room was small, smelling of dank and musty wood. Two armchairs, a small sink and a single, small bed furnished the upstairs space, and Edge, feeling a little too observant helped Bono in and under the covers.

                  “I’m going to leave this bucket here for you,” he told him, and received a discernable grumble in reply. Bono was pale, dark hair mangled into thin tresses that hung over his eyelids. “Hold on in there, mate.” Edge tilted the singer’s face up to the light, dark rings circling his eyes and porcelain skin glistening with sweat.

                  ‘ _I don’t know why you persist in getting yourself fucked up like this.’_

                 Edge ventured to the bathroom, vomited the poisonous contents of his stomach and decided that the cold tiles would do well as a makeshift sleeping place until the morrow.

Once Bono was settled in and left in peace, he had trouble falling asleep. The air in the room was cold and stale, so he got up once to open the window. Still couldn't sleep. He felt hot, stripped down to his briefs, no results. He spent an hour or so tossing and turning, until he finally threw up once more. That seemed to do the trick, because he slept just fine after that, completely knocked out. And somehow, through all the physical pain he was placed under, he still managed to smile to himself. A weak, half-hearted smile, but a smile nonetheless. Only maniacs could do that so naturally.

Edge didn’t really sleep at all. His mind was occupied with keeping Bono from choking on his guts, amongst other things. Mostly Aislinn. They weren’t happy. Obviously. Edge didn’t know what he could do. He had three daughters. Three. Three little beings, souls he helped create and raise, the youngest merely two years of age. He couldn’t do that to them.

                 It was five in the morning when Edge gave in, stuck in a tiled room with his own thoughts and insecurities. It had come to the point where he was willing to awaken the sleeping singer to ask him his opinion, ask him if it was time to divorce. But as Edge crawled his way into the room, he sighed. Bono was strewn across the bed, clad in only his godforsaken underpants, sheets kicked up restlessly and discarded. The faint smell of upchuck wafting in the air. Yep. He was about as useful as a banana peel this early in the morning. And anyway, what more advice could Bono give? Divorce was not only frowned upon, but it was illegal. Edge was practically powerless. Edge pulled himself up into an adjacent armchair, sinking into it and gazing over Bono’s body with half-open eyes.

                 ‘ _He has Ali. Ali has him. She loves him. That shapeless, bastard of a man.’_ He smiled at this and shook his head. ‘ _Paul fucking Hewson, how do you do it?’_

                  Hours dwindled by, nine rolled around, and Bono, a creature of habit (mostly bad habits), finally roused himself from sleep. He lifted his head, squinting as the bright rays of sun seeped into the small room. He groaned immediately, plopping back down and casting a glance over at his friend.

“You look like dogshit.” Edge mumbled, scratching his forehead. But he supposed he couldn’t really talk. He hadn’t seen his own reflection in a day, and actually feared to.

“You’ve had better days yerself, son,” Bono grunted. "Are we gonna take a taxi home, then? You sure you don't wanna stay with us?" he asked, voice rough from having laughed and chattered so much the night before.

“Yeah, I... Would you mind? I mean...”

‘ _I can’t go back home. Not just yet,’_ he determined,

“You know how Ali feels about partying. I don’t want to get caught in one of her lectures.” He grinned warmly and sniffled. Edge had been considering asking Bono for the favour anyway. Just until he could figure things out.

"She'll be nice enough to wait until you're out of earshot before starts any of that shit," he chuckled, leaning over the side of the bed to collect his stray clothing. "Really, you can at least stay a day. It'll give you both time to clear your heads," he said as he threw on his shirt and pants.

He now stood up, on his own and everything, which was definite progress from last night. He wanted to get out of this room as soon as possible. The stench of vomit was wreaking up the entire room. "Come on. The sooner we get there, the less angry she'll be," he said, rubbing the temples of his forehead and heading for the door.

Edge and Bono made their way outside to hail a taxi, familiar, blurry faces passing on the street looking a little glum. Or hungover. Likely both. It seemed anyone who was someone in Dublin had ended up at that goddamn party.

                  Humming a tuneless song, Edge helped Bono into the taxi and sat himself at the back seat. For The Edge, there was plenty of things to do the next few days leading up to Christmas, but not much for the weeks following.. Until it was tour time, anyways. Sleep. He could use some sleep. But sleep associated itself with beds. And beds associated themselves with Aislinn. Because that’s what Edge was thinking about. Aislinn.

_‘What will I do for Christmas? I’ll be back by then. It’ll be Blue’s second.’_

                  “What’re ye doin’ for Christmas, Bono?” Edge muttered, leaning forward to latch onto the singer’s seat. “Somethin’ big? Or are you an’ Ali just gonna drink fine wine and contemplate the new year again?”

Bono surely would have dozed off, had Edge not spoke up from the backseat. And even as he did, his eyes remained only half-open in tired slits. He shuffled about in his seat so he could face him, and shrugged his shoulders lightly. "We're not really sure yet. Probably the latter, but she's been talking about visiting her parents, stuff like that," he replied. After this, he made no attempt at conversation, and he hoped Edge would be tired enough to do the same. If he really had problems he wanted help with, he ought to save them for Ali. She understood women far better than Bono ever could.

The drive was long, but not unbearably so, and they reached the house a little before ten. The taxi pulled up by the front yard to let the two men out, and Bono had not taken more than two steps up the drive when a small child scampered through the door. Jordan looked the proper two year-old, with her hair in pigtails and her eyes alight with youthful energy. She wasted no time in scuttling over and latching onto her father's leg.

"Daddy, you smell funny," was the first thing she said, her button nose wrinkling up distastefully. Being a toddler, her language was all mushed together, but comprehensible.

"I know. Daddy didn't get to take a bath yesterday," he responded with a faint smile, taking her hands and hoisting her up so she could swing limply in the air. Before she could ask why, he spoke again. "Could you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Go tell Mommy Uncle Edge is here so she can help him inside. Can you do that?" He asked as he set her down. Apparently in the mood to please, she eagerly did as she was told, calling out to her mother as she paraded back inside. Bono gazed back at Edge and beckoned for him to follow. "I'm just gonna shower up real quick. Ali will take care of ya," he said as they entered the house. The air in here was warm, smelling of all things Christmas: pine, freshly baked cookies, and peppermint. Bono headed upstairs, but his hopes of avoiding his wife were dashed as they came face to face at the top of the staircase. A few hushed words were exchanged; Bono sounded apologetic, Ali sounded irritated. That had been bound to happen. But as she came downstairs, she wore a wide smile.

"Hi, sweetheart," she greeted Edge, shutting out the cold behind him and wrapping an arm around his torso in a brief embrace. "Come in, sit down," she continued, ushering him further into the house. "Are you hungry? I've got some leftover ham and eggs, if you want breakfast," she said as she roamed into the kitchen.

“That’d be lovely, Ali. Thank you.” Edge called out, following her in and pulling up a stool at the kitchen counter.

                  It was a quaint, little home, on the outskirts of Merrion, surrounded by houses in similar build and the occasional dead tree. Approaching Christmas, the Irish landscape would often become a barren, cold, white waste. Edge missed it. Not the cold, of course, but the Christmas feeling.

                  “I don’t mean t’ be a burden,” Edge mumbled, playing with a bottle-cap on the granite counter. “But it’s just... It’s getting...” He paused to ponder the topic.

_‘It’s not really her problem, is it?’_

                  “Oh, hey there.” He looked down as Jordan beamed, tugging at his hand. “How old are you now? You’re gettin’ big.” Pulling the young girl up onto his lap, Edge grunted. “You’ve got your daddy’s nose and your mother’s eyes. What a combination.”

                  This only reminded Edge of his family even more. Six year old Hollie, five year old Arran and little Blue Angel. His children, his perfect little girls. Whom he now missed dearly. Bono was a very lucky man, having Ali. As she flittered about the kitchen preparing food, Edge couldn’t help but smile, bouncing her child in his lap.

                  ‘ _She’s a good woman. Doesn't take shit. Perfect for him.’_

"Honey, I'm taking care of three big babies. You're the very least of my problems," she assured him with a shadow of a smirk as she piled ample helpings of food onto a plate and stuck it in the microwave for half a minute. She knew all about the discord between he and is his wife, since Bono told her almost everything that revolved around the band, so she felt more than obligated to at least allow him to stay the night.

"You can stay as long as you want. Bono tells me these past months have been pretty hard for you, to say the least" she continued, watching with a soft expression as Jordan reached up to run her fingers over his goatee. "I know you probably want to get home soon, but...we're always here for you, David, if you ever need a place," she said, pulling his meal out of the microwave and setting it before him with a fork and knife. She served him some coffee while she was at it, still fresh, and took up a seat beside him. "I don't s’pose you wanna talk about it," she murmured, her fingers drumming against her jaw as she set her chin in her palm. Bono took long showers. They would have plenty of time to discuss, if he was in the mood.

“I don’t know what to do, Al.” Edge muttered at length, exhaling deeply and wiping a bit of food from the corner of Jordan’s mouth. “I’ve thought about counselling, taking breaks, talking it over, but she...” He tilted his head, jaw clenching.“... _we_ can’t decide on anything anymore. And I just want what’s best for the girls.” Edge looked up to Ali, lips pursed. “I’m out of options, Ali. I can’t do anything.” He sipped his coffee, wrapped his arms around Jordan and wrung his hands anxiously.

"I don't know either, honey..." Ali paused, her gaze drawn toward the window for a moment. "I guess the first thing you'd have to ask yourself is whether or not you love her the same way you did when you married her. If you do, that's good. If not, then figure out where it went wrong and try and sort out a compromise from there," she said, lacing her fingers through her hair. "I feel like it's wrong to stay with someone you don't love but...you've got a big family now and your children shouldn't have to suffer for what you've done, y'know? At least wait until the Christmas season is over until you make any decisions. This is the one time the whole year you should be happy," she continued, and finally shrugged her shoulders in defeat. "I wish I had the answers for you. My best piece of advice would just be to always think of the kids first."

Edge did feel a little foolish, thinking that Ali would have all the answers. She wouldn’t, of course. She wasn’t Aislinn, she wasn’t him. The hurt was still there, the numb, indecision and loss. But she did help him open his eyes.

                  “Yeah.” He sighed and picked up Jordan so he could adjust his own position on the stool. He set her back down on his lap and leaned down to see what she was doing. Her little hands had fished out Edge’s keys, and she now played with them, almost reaching up to put them in her mouth. He took them back and she folded her arms disapprovingly. Edge laughed. “You don’t want to know where these have been, wee Jay-Jay.”

He decided he needed time. Time away. _A break_. Ali was right though, in terms of the children. He needed to be there for them. Edge bounced Jordan on his knee again and finished off his breakfast.

“Would you mind if I stayed a little longer? I can help around with Eve.” Edge smiled and let Jordan mindlessly play around with the small charity bands on his wrist. “I’m good with diapers.” He looked up to Ali, hoping she’d understand. Hoping she’d help keep the numbness away.

                  _‘I’ll take a week. Ali won’t mind. Bono certainly won’t. I'll call her tonight.’_

"You can stay however long you want, Edge. And that's very kind of you to offer, but you're a guest in this house. As long as you just clean up after yourself," she said tenderly, though there was an underlying firmness in her voice. She knew he didn't want to feel like a waste of space around the house, but being the good hostess she was, she couldn't allow herself to weigh him down with duties that didn't belong to him. Their children were the last things he needed to think about right now.

She stood up as he finished off the remainder of his food, and set about washing the dishes. "Things will get better, once you go off on tour. The time away will make you realize how much you really needed her," she added as she ran the plates under some hot water. "Anyway, Bono and I have a few plans for the holidays. Just visiting relatives and things like that. You're welcome to come along with us, if you don't feel like being stuck in the house alone," she offered, drying her hands off with a towel and raising an eyebrow at him. By now, Jordan had grown tired of sitting still, and  scrambling off his lap, she skipped merrily away into the living room.

“Thank you, Ali.” Edge chimed, standing up and tucking his stool under the bench. “If I can do anything, just around the house, let me know.” He nodded gratefully and moved into the living room to watch Jordan scribble on the paper. He felt out of place. Mismatched. A square peg in a round hole. Everything in his life was slowly changing, and he felt it wasn’t for the better. Time away was the best and only thing for now. He just prayed he wouldn’t become a burden to this family.

He took some paper, after asking Jordan’s sanctified permission first, and began to scribble too, leaning on the coffee table. He scribbled a few things, silhouettes, a lemon, at request of the paper-holderer, and a few little animals.It was almost midday, and Edge was fairly sure Bono had fallen asleep in the shower again. If he wandered down within the next few minutes bearing a bruise on his face, Edge would know for sure. The man had problems.

                 “No, that’s a bit of water. See? You’ve got it around the wrong way. It’s the wrong one, too.” Edge muttered to Jordan, placing the puzzle piece where it ought to be. They’d been working on it for about fifteen minutes. Jordan batted his hand away, taking the piece out and insisting the top-left corner piece go there instead. Edge raised a brow. “Innovative. You should be a designer.”

Once Ali had finished up in the kitchen, replacing pots in their designated cabinets and stowing away some salvaged leftovers, she disappeared upstairs momentarily to take care of a few things. For one, she had to yell at her husband to quit wasting water (he had indeed fallen asleep midway through shampooing his hair). Eve had started crying to be taken out of her crib shorty after that. She handed the infant off to Bono once he'd picked his way out of the bathroom, all the while putting in a few more words regarding his drunken excursion last night. "I'm just going to run a few errands. Should be back in time for dinner," she said to Edge as she grabbed her purse off the coffee table. Jordan, who had by now grown tired of trying to put together the puzzle, practically begged her mother to come along, who readily complied. Looking after Eve would be enough for the two men while she was gone.

And so began the dreaded ordeal of babysitting.

 


	3. This isn't just another tour.

By the time Ali and Jordan left the house, Bono finally came down, bruise and all, but other than that appearing much more pleasant than he had this morning. Eve was squirming about in his arms, babbling away in her own unique dialect. "Feeling all right?" he asked casually as he set the restless baby on the carpeted floor and took a seat on the sofa. As far as he could tell, Edge looked the same. Perhaps a bit better, which probably meant Ali had consoled him, but not by much. There was an element of sadness in his features, from the way his shoulders drooped and his eyes were averted towards the ground. It was as if he wasn't entirely present in the room.  

A tired smile appeared on Edge’s face as Bono entered the room. A bigger one formed when he saw little Eve, sparkling eyes wandering and little hands flailing. “Look at her!” Edge chuckled. “She’s getting big too. Jordan’s at at least a head taller since I last saw her.” He shuffled over on the couch to yield to Bono’s arse, gazing over to watch the infant fall onto her back and stare at the bright lights above. He turned to face Bono. “Yeah, I’m okay. A little tired.”

Edge took a sip of some beer Ali had brought him and set his content eyes on the far wall. “Another album, another tour.” He faced Bono, stifling a burp. “Paul found a dancer for the...” Edge gestured vaguely and took another sip. “Dance thing you were thinking of. Y’know, for _Mysterious Ways_. Her name’s Morleigh _something_. A choreographer.”

"Oh yeah. He was saying something about her last time I spoke to him. Steinbeck? Steinberg? Something like that," Bono noted, reaching over to snatch away the bottle and taking a short swig. It was a wonder how either of them could even look at alcohol after last night, let alone drink it. "And for the record, Edge, this isn't just _another tour_ ," he reached for the remote that rested on the table to switch on the television. "It'll be a lot different than what we're used to, y'know...we're not just gonna be up there playing like we've been doing all these years. A lot could go haywire, with all the television screens and cables and satellites. It's gonna throw off a lot of people."

“Eh,” Edge muttered, gazing down to watch Eve attempt to crawl toward them. “Or make them angry. It’s a new direction, Bono. People are gonna jump off the U2 boat as it sails into dangerous waters.” He let Bono take the beer, looking down at it with disgust, suddenly remembering his migraine that only felt like minutes ago.

                 “New sound too. It’s more... Solid. Grounded.” Edge was trying to make reference to the lack of delay on the album, lack of Explorer and of echo. Bono ended up hiding the pedals to prove a point; that they were heading in a new direction, looking for a new, refreshed sound. “I’m not sure I like it.”

"I guess that's just a chance we have to take. As long as it's not another _Joshua Tree_ ," Bono responded with a grimace. "It's a bit late to call it off now, anyway. That'd be something to get people's attention, aye? U2 cancels their tour two months prior to the start. They'd be calling for our execution," he chuckled.

" _Your_ execution. People hate you." Edge grinned and sat back to watch the TV. "Well, they either _hate_ you, or think you're the messiah reborn." He looked over to Bono and observed him for a moment. There was a lot to dislike about him, but more to love. The arse of an Irishman was bold, a natural born leader with the stubbornness, and at times, IQ of a brick. But his eyes were always gentle, lips always pulled back into a wild, devilish smile. Edge admired him.

_‘If that man was faced with Death himself, he'd trash-talk his way out of it.’_

He found himself staring. The singer didn’t seem to notice, but unbeknownst to Edge he had stolen a few glances himself. Edge coughed and averted his gaze back to the television, unfocused on what was happening. Bono was his best friend, someone who was everything and more to him, always there, and he always listened. Now, Edge wasn’t the most sentimental of men, but as he sat there, eyes drifting, he forgot about Aislinn. He forgot about U2. And instead, he remembered how lucky he was to have someone like Bono. Friends since childhood, the two were often inseparable, and more than often, fighting over everything and anything. Edge smiled a little at this. And in that moment, he decided, no matter how bad it got, he always had _him._

"Hate me? No, that can't be right. It's all just petty jealousy," Bono scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. Of course, he was kidding. He knew damn well how much people loathed him. There was always two extremes when it came to people's feelings about him. It was no easy matter feeling complacent about a person who knew so well how to push buttons and was unafraid to speak his mind. Honest people who talked a lot were the most dangerous kinds of people.

Bono handed the bottle, now empty, back to Edge before sliding off the couch and rolling onto the floor. He crawled on all fours to where Eve was flailing around some plush toys by the television set, and would have watched her do so, had an unpleasant smell not wafted up to meet his nose. "Oh, great. You decide to do that right when Mommy leaves, huh?" He rose to his feet, picking her up in the process, and turned to his friend with a suggestive little smile. "Give me a hand with this, will you?"

Edge guffawed and grinned, taking Eve in his hands and holding her up by the armpits.”Let’s take a look at you...” He took her over to the kitchen, laying a towel down on the counter before placing her gently onto it. “Be a darling and go get some nappies.” He muttered to Bono, wriggling little Eve out of her stinky diaper and tossing it into the nearby bin. He prodded her tummy and she giggled, flailing her legs. “That reeked. You reek.” Edge picked her up and rolled her over, snatching a nappy and a wipe from the returning and reluctant Bono, wiping her up and expertly, swiftly sliding the diaper on. She gurgled happily. Edge grinned. The jaw, the sapphire eyes, even the little, gaping mouth bore a shocking resemblance.

‘ _Now you, lucky little miss... You look_ just _like your daddy.’_

"Well, check you out, Mr. Mom," Bono quipped with a lopsided smile, swooping in to scoop up a now-content Eve. "Now the only smelly person here is you. Ali will probably be back soon. You'll be out just in time for dinner, if you wanna shower," he said as he transferred his daughter back to where she had been milling about with her toys.

"Probably a good idea." Edge mumbled, sniffing himself. It was less than sanitary. He gave the cooing Eve a little wave, and Bono a sideways glance as he ventured over to the upstairs bathroom. He stripped down, neatly folding his clothes up beside Bono's discarded pile, still there from his previous adventure. Edge turned the water on and stood under the steady stream, sighing and closing his eyes at the soothing water. After some soaking, Edge started to hum and sing to himself quietly, rubbing the shampoo through his scalp. The longish hair, once wet, went down to his shoulders. He had got it cut. Sort of. But now tended to plait it back, after a small incident involving a certain singer's hand-held stage-light and the smell of burning flesh. An unfortunate accident indeed. Edge finished up quickly, towelling down his hair and wrapping a clean towel loosely around his waist. There was a little problem. Nothing he couldn't fix, but still a problem.

"Bono," He called out, walking around the corner, barechested and shivering with a rub of his arm. Ali still wasn't back yet. "Could I borrow some clothes? Preferably _clean_." Edge supposed that wouldn't be too much of a problem, seeing as Ali would often refuse to snuggle with the singer if he smelled like catpiss.

Bono opened his mouth to answer, but he hesitated in providing a simple response. The opportunity to mess around with him had thus presented itself. He could lead Edge on a wild goose chase all around the house in search of clothing, if he wanted. But no. His mind was bent on other ideas.

"Ehm...actually, Ali just threw all my dirty clothes in the wash today, so the only clean clothes I have are the ones I'm wearing," he called back, unable to restrain the grin on his face. That was a lie. Well, mostly. Ali had indeed washed a majority of his clothes today, and they were still in the process of drying. His wardrobe wasn't entirely void of things to wear, but Edge didn't need to know that. "What's the big deal anyway? Do you have some sort of inferiority complex I don't know about?"

“No, I’ve just.. It’s..” Edge made his way downstairs where it was much, much warmer. More bearable. “Are you sure? I can’t put on my old clothes. I smell like floral soap now and in contrast, it almost made me puke.” Edge scratched the back of his neck and looked to Bono, who didn’t respond.    
“Are you screwin’ with me? It's cold!”  
 Bono looked serious. But then again, his pokerface was one not to be trifled with. Still no answer.

                 “Fine.” Edge grumbled. He took a seat on the coffee table, feeling a little insecure with a fold of his arms. It wasn’t like he was self-conscious at all, the bandmates had seen each-other’s willies before. But those were in hotels. Close-proximity. They didn’t really have a choice. Edge chewed on his lip and looked down to meet Bono’s gaze.

“Hey,” he interrupted, sure that Bono’s calm expression veiled a skeptical one. “You can’t judge me, you’ve got a bloody forest cooped up in that shirt.”

"Judging you?" Bono seemed to perk up just the slightest at such a defensive statement. "Who said I was judging you?" Bono's passive expression broke as he beamed over at the sparingly covered man. "Trust me, there are plenty of other things I could judge you for, body hair being the least of them," he said with an innocent shrug, rolling from his stomach and onto his back. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway could be faintly heard over the low buzz of the television, which caused Bono's grin to widen considerably. A shame all his fun had to be spoilt so soon. But he supposed he could show mercy on his victim, just this once. He was, after all, a guest.

"You know, now that I think of it, there might be some clothes up in my bedroom closet, if ye wanna go take a quick look," he said, nodding up towards the door at the top of the staircase. There was something just a bit off about this practical joke, this innocent fun. For a brief moment, there had been a faint glimmer in those azure hues, that was more than just mere mischief. Ah, but whatever it was, he played it off well. So well that he didn't even realize what his motives had been.

Edge gave a defeated look to Bono and shook his head. He sighed and stood up, adjusting his towel and leaving to go up the stairs without another word, Bono holding in his laughter as he left. Edge thought it was trivial, really. He never actually understood why Bono did things like that. The singer was a mixed bag of hithers and thithers, affections and questionable remarks.

                 _‘Arse. Full of gobshite, actually_.’

                 Edge approached the master bedroom, sliding the drawers open to rifle around for some underpants. He came across a bottle of liquor and a half-torn condom packet before he found anything.

                 _‘How does Ali live with him? This is embarrassing.’_

                 “Oh, sweet Jesus,” Edge muttered, retrieving a bottle of bodily lubrication. He tossed it back into the draw and scooped around a bit more until he found a pair of white briefs. He looked around as a precautionary before dropping his towel and staggering into the garment. It was a bit oversized for his lean physique.

Edge felt a little loose as he made his way down the stairs, outfitted in a pair of dark jeans and a grey shirt, that was a little too big for his lean shoulders. It revealed a bit too much chest than Edge would have preferred. He tied back his hair for the moment and scratched his beard as Ali walked past him, smiling. He smiled back and ventured out, bare-footed to the living room, where Bono was now being a substitute jungle gym for his rambunctious daughters.

He glanced up as Edge came back down, noting how the clothes seemed baggy on his lithe frame but deciding not to mention it. He'd shamed him enough already today. "Are we gonna get together with Adam and Larry for Christmas Eve tomorrow?" He asked nonchalantly. They had better be getting together. He had bought gifts for the three of them, awful gifts, but still gifts.

"Well," Edge grunted as he reached down, taking Jordan into his arms and around so she sat on his shoulders. "I don't see why not. I'll have to go back home for the actual day. Just for a bit."

"Oh, that's fine. Ali and I have were planning on visiting her parents tomorrow anyway," Bono said, hands running swiftly over Eve’s little body as he tickled her. “You know, they do have that fair or lights festival or whatever you wanna call it every Christmas Eve. We can all just meet up there.”

A few minutes later, and dinner was being brought out to them. It was nothing lavish, just some homemade soup. Ali hadn't wanted to keep them waiting, and this was the fastest meal she could whip up. The girls were exchanged for the food, and Ali took the both of them into the kitchen, where they could have their own dinner and let Bono and Edge eat in peace. As they ate, an MTV special played on the television. ‘I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For’ was one of the featured videos. Bono wasn’t interested. Edge, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. For reasons that will go unsaid.

The two ate in mostly silence, the occasional remark or comment in relation to whatever they were watching popping up. Stealing a few glances every now and then, Edge started to notice Bono's fatigue. His deep, blue eyes were sunken behind heavy lids and thick lashes, chest rising and falling slowly beneath the fabric of his shirt. He didn't look too stressed though. Bono never really was. Another something Edge admired about him. "Mate, you're lookin' a bit tired. Might be a good idea to rest early." He quipped, placing the empty bowl on the coffee table.

"Yeah...I think I will. I'm beat."

"Here," he took Bono's bowl, taking it to the kitchen. Ali was trying to keep Jordan from flinging her soup half-way across the room. Edge laughed and rinsed out the bowls, stacking them aside. "Thanks for all of this. I'll... I'll repay you somehow or something." Edge considered himself a bit of a handyman around the house, and was more than happy to fix or tinker. "If you need anything, anything at all, you know where I am." 

Ali had momentarily managed to suppress the squeamish Jordan, and folded her arms with a soft smile as Edge spoke up. "Ah, don't mention it. It's the least we could do for you, with everything going on," she said carefully, rubbing his back in a soothing manner. "Maybe you should have an early night, too. You're looking a bit sickly.” She paused. "And, y'know, as much as I'd hate for you to do us any favors, we've got a leaky sink in the downstairs bathroom. If you wanna have a look at it. Now go on, I'll take care of this," she said, softly shooing him away to tend to the dishes.

Edge smiled tiredly and blushed a little, nodding and heading to the hall. "I'll check it out next chance I get. Goodnight, Ali." On his way to the guest room, he poked his head into Ali and Bono's. Bono was getting undressed, muttering something about saving the whales. Or travelling to Wales.  Or decline in sales. Edge couldn't really tell.

"I'll see you tomorrow then." He let his eyes wander over the hairy plains of Bono's chest. It often intrigued Edge, how hairy a man could get. Bono was by far the outlier. Most women would shriek and run away from it. But as long as he had a nice shirt on, Bono was a lady magnet like no other, strong jaw, azure eyes and one hell of a pair of lips. Edge had to admit to himself; if he wasn't best friends with the guy, and happened to be a woman, he'd be head-over-heels.

Physically drained, Bono only offered him a grunt in response, kicking off his pants leg by leg and watching in satisfaction as they were tossed to the corner of the room. "The festival starts at seven, I think. That's what I'm telling the others, anyway," he said, cupping a hand over his mouth as he tried to keep down another yawn. And then he felt it again, like he had earlier in the afternoon. Eyes. On him. Not on his face, but his entire figure. Normal people would find that unnerving. He personally didn't mind, and in fact, he may have liked it. His concept of shame was much different than most people's. He didn't understand what it meant to be embarrassed. It’s a wonder how he wasn't some sort of nudist hermit living in the woods by now.

"Well, g'night then. You can ogle me some other time when I'm not so tired," he sneered playfully, moving over to the nightstand to turn off the lamp that rested on it. Cheeky little shit.

Edge snorted, shaking his head and leaving the room once the lamp had been turned off. He ventured over to the guest room, where he had been many times before, usually after parties he had been unwillingly dragged to, and Aislinn had preferred he didn't come home stinking like vodka and smoke. She probably didn't care where he went now. Maybe a little concern for her children's sake, but not enough to halt him.

He slid out of Bono's clothes, the singer's distinctive, smoky smell now long gone from them. He tossed the garments into the corner of the room, closed the window, opened the curtains and wriggled down into the single bed. The room wouldn't be a guest room anymore. Jordan would soon grow up to claim it for herself. Bono's child. Bono, who Edge had known for years and years, a father. The thought made Edge smirk. He eventually settled down and gazed around, the room dark and silent, albeit for the small glimmer of moonlight pouring into the quilt and the ticking of a wall-clock.

A few things occupied his mind. Aislinn, the children, Ali and Bono, but something new stirred inside of the guitarist. It settled in a pool above his legs, an anxious feeling. He curled up into his side and stared blindly at the far wall. To be fair and honest to himself, Edge was lonely. He knew he was, but only now was he feeling it. He missed his kids. He missed the intimacy he had with Aislinn. But the two hadn't slept in the same room for a little over a month.

He curled up a little deeper and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling very small, and very much insignificant. He was only a man. A mere creation of the Lord. One of billions. A speck of dust on the wind, that happened to be caught by the world on a wave of fame and discovery. But every man had his thoughts, feelings, desires. He clutched himself and sighed as he began to slowly drift into sleep. He dreamt of nothing, listening to the clock tick by and becoming sentient with the dark of the night.

 

 

 


	4. G Chords and Blowing Chunks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge wakes up alone, Adam gets a monster bong, the lads enjoy the Christmas Fair in Dublin.

Bono received a rude awakening the next morning at what he considered an ungodly hour (half past seven), to Jordan whacking him in the back with a pillow. Any other day he would have told her to go back to sleep. But, for the sake of it being the day before Christmas, he decided to whack her back. This didn't make her relent. It was likely only encouragement in her eyes. It took a mere few seconds before they began to wage pillow war against one another. Pillow wars were much different than pillow fights. Those were for pussies. This was the real shit, man. The writhing from the other side of the bed awoke Ali in due course, and no sooner had she opened her eyes when Bono placed her in a headlock. This proved to be a grievous mistake, because now the two females decided to form an alliance. This was nothing new. As the only man in the house, Bono was the designated victim of their vicious mood swings and incessant nagging.

The pillow war was finally cut short when Eve started crying in the room over from all the raucous. And by now, it was time to get ready to see the in-laws. To save time and water, Bono decided against showering, and once he had changed into a pair of slacks and loose black dress shirt, he went about helping the girls get ready while Ali made breakfast.

"Do you think we should get him up and let him know we're leaving?" Bono asked as he sat at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee and flipping through the morning papers.

"I think it's best if we leave him be. Let him sleep as long as he wants and just leave him some breakfast whenever he decides to get up." Ali answered as she set aside a plate of pancakes for the guitarist on the countertop.

                 And so that's how it went. They finished their breakfast, piled into the car, and headed off. They trusted Edge enough to lock up the place, whenever he decided to visit back his own home. 

Affairs ran smoothly at the Stewart residence in Raheny. The family had arrived a little before eleven after roughly two hours of driving up the coast. And that didn't account for the numerous bathroom breaks they had to take along the way. Terry and Joy were a very lovely couple, sweet in the way elderly people were. Upon arrival they had wasted no time in accommodating their beloved grandchildren with cookies and small gifts to keep them entertained.

All the while, Bono was worried about Edge. He had been thinking about the man ever since they had driven off that morning. A silent prayer repeated itself over and over again in his head that he and Aislinn could sort out some of their problems today. Today and tomorrow ought to be the happiest days of the year after all, where one could enjoy his family and friends. He didn't stop pondering over it for the remainder of their stay. And as they drove back home around five in the afternoon, with everyone else in the car asleep after the day's events, he still didn't stop thinking about it. And he thought about it still when they got home and he dropped off Ali and the girls before driving himself to the fair. It was barely dusk by now, the sky a dusty deep blue as the sun just barely vanished beneath the Irish Sea. He wanted to be happy, but the only thing he felt was worry.

***

Edge woke up around midday, almost having a panic-attack to find himself awoken in a completely alien space. But much to his surprise, he was merely in Bono’s guest room. After recovering from his initial shock, he got dressed and padded silently out into the hall, rubbing his arm at the chilly coldness. He peeped into Bono’s room, hearing no activity downstairs and came to the conclusion that they had left already. Edge made himself a bowl of cereal, only to find a cold stack of Ali-made pancakes next to the stove. Feeling unmotivated and unusually empty, he ate them as they were.

                 Today, he’d go back home. To anyone else, it would’ve seemed like a normal thing. But deep inside, Edge could only help but feel a sense of anxiety and panic. Questions flooded Edge’s mind as he quickly finished his pancakes, washing up the plate and wandering to the downstairs bathroom to investigate the leaky sink. After some snooping around, he found Bono’s (hardly used) toolkit and set to work, peeping under the pipes to get a good look.

It was nothing he couldn’t handle, really. Ever since he was small, he and his brother, Dik, would often pull things apart and put them back again, just for the pure feeling and joy of understanding. Edge was much like this way with music, analytical and observant. A true musician knows where the notes are, why they’re there, and what purpose they serve.

                 As Edge would often say, ‘ _Every note counts. You can’t just throw them away.’_

                 The guitarist fixed the pipe, made his bed, finished the dishes, washed his and the borrowed clothes, cleaned the loungeroom and locked up the house, stepping out the door by about two in the afternoon. It was sunny outside, and he was feeling a sense of gratefulness toward Bono and his wonderful wife.

_‘I hope they understand how much they mean to me_ ,’ he thought, hailing a taxi to return to his house. He was bombarded with hugs, affections and cuddles from his children. Edge was elated. But as he saw his wife, she had to explain that he was due to look after the girls while she went to Belfast for a Christmas party. Edge had forgotten about it, graciously declining after his previous experience. But there it was, yet another complication. This left no time for the conversation he had already prolonged for so long.

                 Edge stood in the doorway, a girl on his hip and two hanging from his arms.

                 ‘ _What do I do now?’_

“It hurts, daddy.” Hollie grunted, holding the acoustic in her lap, attempting to make an F chord shape. She’d been trying to get get her fingers in the proper arrangement for the past twenty minutes now. Edge glanced over, Blue in one arm and bag in the other. “It’s because your fingers are a little too small, sweetheart.” He set Blue on the floor and she looked up to him wantonly, sucking on a pink pacifier. Her hands groped upward but Edge petted her head and told her to wait.

                 “Here,” he pried Hollie’s fingers from the fretboard and placed them in a shape that seemed to be much easier for the six-year-old to grasp. “Is that better? That’s a G. G sounds nicer than F.” Hollie strummed it quietly and smiled, giggling, making Edge smile too. It did feel good to be home again. But it did feel a little empty. Something grasped his hand, Blue tugging on it and eyes watering. “Oh, baby, come on. She’ll be back in no time.” He kissed her cheek and lifted the child up, putting his bag back down.

 The fair would be on in fifteen minutes. He was supposed to meet Bono, Larry and Adam there in ten. But there was no way he could go without his children accompanying him. _Unless..._

“ _Hello?”_ Answered the voice on the receiver. Edge held the phone in his hand and glanced over to make sure Arran hadn’t started eating the cupcakes she had just helped ice.

“Hey, Dik.”

“ _Dave! How’re you? Why aren’t you up at the party?_ ”

“It’s a long story,” Edge chuckled. He liked how his brother still called him by his name. It always made him feel a little less rockstar and more... _Human._

“ _Need anything?”_

_“_ Yeah, could you ask Gil if she could babysit tonight? I’ve got plans, and...”

" _Dave! Hey!”_ A bright voice quipped up on the other end of the line. His sister had evidently stolen the receiver, a small struggle audible in the background of the call.

“Heya Gil, could you babysit for tonight? I’m not sure how late I’ll be. Not too late. The girls want carols before bed.”

“ _No problem. See you in five.”_

                 Edge would be late to the fair, but that was okay. The reassurance of his children being in safe care as he started the car was enough to comfort him.

                 By the time he had arrived, so had almost half of the city and surrounding areas. The Dublin Christmas fair was one not to be missed. Edge wandered about for a bit, beanie on and jacket zipped up as the sun began to set. He looked around, and sure enough, found Adam and Larry crowded around the dutch pancake stand. They were looking for Bono too. So they looked together, Edge felt completely elated to be back within the company of his friends again. Tonight was the night he’d forget about everything. Tonight was for celebrating. A new era of U2, a new year where he could start over. Where he had a second chance.

Bono would've gotten there sooner, had he planned ahead for the heavy traffic. He hadn't realized everyone and their neighbor's dog would be showing up to this thing. The congestion on the side streets delayed him by about ten minutes, and another five minutes going around the block trying to snag a parking space. The fact that he was shit at driving didn't really help. His parking job was horrendous, all crooked with half of the car up on the curb. He grabbed three plastic bags (he clearly hadn't cared to wrap his gifts) out of the trunk and melted into the flock of people who were heading to the fair.

Whoever decided to let Bono draw money out of his bank account clearly didn't understand the consequences that would result. He'd taken out a reasonable sum, considering he was only really buying for three people, not including family, and blew it off on a bunch of ridiculous gifts. Well, maybe they weren't all ridiculous. Superfluous might be a better word. For Adam, he'd purchased the largest hookah pipe he could find, sparkly blue, and overpriced cologne (sandalwood, no doubt). For Larry, he bought what any man would buy for his friend if he wasn't really sure what to get: a few pairs of bikini briefs, a new wristwatch, and only the highest quality condoms. Edge was generally easiest to buy for. Bono had bought him about enough beanies to last him the rest of his life, and some books. He didn't know what the books were about and if Edge would even like them, since he had sort of just blindly grabbed them off the shelves at book store.

"What the hell is taking him so long? He's the one who told us all to meet by the front," Larry said to the others, peering through the endless sea of people in the hopes of finding that familiar pair of shades or smug grin.

"Isn't that him over there?" Adam said at length, pointing in a general direction of where he'd spotted the frontman.

It was indeed Bono, and he had spotted them around the same time. Buzzing with eagerness, he hastily pushed his way past a few people until he was finally close enough to offer out his gifts. "Sorry 'bout that. This place is a lot more crowded than I thought it would be."

"That's alright." Adam smiled, walking up to embrace Bono, and so did Larry, then finally Edge.

                 Adam was elated with his gifts, grinning in his quirky way and giving Bono another hug. "Sometimes I think you know me too well.” The hookah so large it needed a plus-size bag and a foam box to carry it. Larry was less pleased with his presents, but still, good-heartedly gave Bono a punch to the shoulder. He pulled out the condom packet and cackled, shaking his head in disbelief. Edge took a peep at it and raised his eyebrows. “German.” He tapped the box. “Good quality. Durable.”

                 And finally, Edge recieved his own bundle of presents. “Beanies!” He grinned, scooping around in the bag with a chuckle. “There’s so many… Books too…” He retrieved one and held it up to see it. “ _A Guide to the Human Body._ ” Edge frowned and pulled out the next one. “ _Law VI.”_

                 _‘You've gone to a bloody bookshop and swiped whatever you saw, didn't you?’_

                 _“To Kill a Mockingbird… How to Maintain a Healthy Sex-life for Dummies._ Oh _thanks,_ Bono. Where on Earth did you get these? And… And what the hell is _The Adventures of Stephen the Lesbian_?” He looked up with a confused smile, shaking his head. “You never fail to surprise, Bono.”

                 “Tell me about it.” Adam muttered, pulling out the bong-like apparatus and gaping at it’s beauty. “Put that away, Mary J.” Larry quipped, batting the bassist’s hands away from the magnificent beast of a bong.

                 Edge felt good. Why wouldn’t he? He had just about enough beanies to last a lifetime. In fact, he felt so fantastic, he had almost forgotten Bono’s presents entirely.

                 “Ah,” He pointed to the singer and fished around in his coat pocket. “Y’know those shitty pair of _fly_ shades you found in the dressing room in Berlin? I found a pair for you. Brand new. Also, this.” Edge pulled out the bag with the sunglasses, and a little black box. Inside lay a small, leather bracelet, etched in with Bono’s name. “Arran helped make this one. She chose the leather. I think it’s ox. Or wildebeest. Or something exotic like that.”

Adam and Larry had already given Bono a few things a couple days back. Some fancy hair gel and the necklace he was wearing now. Just what he needed. He received the sunglasses with unchecked enthusiasm, and quickly exchanged them for the pair he had been wearing. The leather bracelet received even more praise. "Not too shabby, Edge. I still think my gifts are a bit better, but you did all right," he teased with a sly smile as he fixed the bracelet around his wrist. He leaned forward to quickly embrace the guitarist. "Tell Arran that I love it," he said as he pulled away.

 

Now that the gifts had been exchanged, they were finally free to walk about the premises and explore the fair. As they walked along, Bono stole a sidelong glance at Edge. He seemed pretty happy for just having gone home today. That put some of his fears to rest. "So how'd everything go?" He muttered to him as they milled around.

"Oh, uh..." Edge muttered, sipping on some beer that he had bought on the way in. "Well, I got home, and you know the party up in Belfast? She must've changed her mind or somethin' because she ended up going. Had to call Gil to look after the girls."

It was true that Edge hadn't gotten time to talk it over with Aislinn, and it was fairly annoying that she had to leave on short notice, but Edge wasn't worrying about that just at that moment. He glanced back at Bono and smiled. He looked a little concerned. But somehow relieved. "Don't you worry about me. Worry about your sink. You need to get new parts." Edge chuckled and hung an arm around Bono's shoulder. It felt natural. It felt good.

As the four of them wandered about, ate food, drank booze, the time came to really have fun.

"That one." Adam had decided on a ride, on which they'd all have to participate in. It was one of those tall, swingy things that ended up doing a whole 360° swing with you on the end.

 Edge burped and shook his head. "I'm not going on that."

Larry muttered ludicrously and stepped forward to get it his own ticket. Edge sighed. If Larry was going to do it, then so could he. Bono was already up front with Adam. Roller coasters were a walk in the park for him.

"Well I'm not sitting next to Ad'," Edge muttered, smirking and stepping into line with a pull of Bono's hand. "Lest he share his dinner with me unexpectedly."

It was true. Adam had quite a weak stomach. But that didn't hold back the bloody daredevil from over-drinking and filling his body with all sorts of shit.

Before long, they were strapped in and ready to go, Adam ecstatic and Larry looking more morose than ever. Edge of course, ended up next to Bono in the four-seated seat set, and as he glanced over with a sigh, he smiled. The fair's bright lights were soft on the singer's complexion, helping outline the subtle features of his chin, lips and eyes. Bono was looking happy. That was enough to brighten Edge up just a little. It always was.

Throughout most of the ride's duration, Bono disobeyed most of the rules that had been clearly posted in front of the attraction. He more often than not poked his head outside their little compartment, hands hanging over the side, faintly resembling a happy dog on a car ride as the wind whisked past his ears. And worst of all he didn't bother to put on his seatbelt. Heaven knows how he hasn't managed to get himself killed by now. He'd often glance back at Edge, ensuring that he too was having a good time as they were rushed about in endless circles, whizzing by fast enough for the lights to turn to bright streaks on the ground. That was around the time where Adam puked and ruined everyone's fun. Well done, well done.

"Fuckin'... Gross..." Larry grumbled, stepping off of the platform and dumping his soiled jacket on the ground. Adam shakily stumbled off a moment later, grinning stupidly and patting Larry's back, hard. "Thanks mate." At least Adam was left relatively unmarked by the contents of his stomach. Edge didn't get hit. Bono did, a little, just a bit in his hair. But it was okay. It was over now.

Edge had spent some of the ride holding Bono back from the edge of the ride, lest he fall out and break his neck, and undoubtedly every other bone in his body. That thought alone was scarier than the ride itself.

"You've got a bit of..." Edge mumbled, approaching Bono and pulling a clump out of his hair. "Lovely." He grimaced, running his hands through the thick blackness, pulling out bits from Adam's dinner. Bono normally would’ve fussed over his own hair, being the narcissist he is, but this time he didn’t retract from Edge’s outstretched fingers. He enjoyed the way they grazed over his scalp.

 Adam cackled in the background and started with a flurry of apologies. Larry wasn't buying it. He considered his 'evening ruined, crashed and burned'. Edge pulled off his own coat and handed it over him, insisting he stay warm.

"Put the belt on next time. You scared me half to death." Edge muttered, scowling as he pulled stringy bit of spew from above Bono's brow. But he couldn't help but giggle, shaking his head. "I knew that'd happen. Why doesn't anyone listen to me anymore? Aren't I the voice of reason in this band?" 

"How could we have listened with this cunt yelling and laughing the whole feckin' time?" Larry muttered with a shake of his head, shrugging on Edge's jacket as the four of them proceeded elsewhere. By now the sky was pitch black, and the only light provided was from the festival lights, and the air was much crisper. The crowds had thinned out slightly as people began taking their families back home. Adam, though he had lost his appetite, suggested they buy some hot cocoa to keep themselves warm.

                 "So I'm guessing you'll be staying back at your own home now until Aislinn gets back? Or will Gil be keeping an eye on them?" Bono asked his friend as they waited in line. He knew that Edge would have to go back for good eventually, having children of his own to look after, but part of him almost wished he'd just stay with him and Ali. Jordan and Eve were both so fond of him, as was Ali, and he was as good as any guest to have around for awhile. Not to mention, with him gone he wouldn't have any help changing diapers.

"Well, I said I'd be home tonight for carols," Edge began, nodding gratefully as he received his hot, chocolatey drink. "But I bet you they'll be asleep by now. Gil would've worn them out. She's more like them than I'd care to admit," Edge was of course making reference to his sister's ecstatic personality, bubbling and always full of enthusiasm. The enthusiasm she must've taken in the womb, which Edge had evidently left behind for logic and analytical reason. And musical talent. But he was pretty happy about that. He glanced over to Bono, chewing his lower lip and smiling. "But hey," he slung an arm around the -rather short- singer and playfully pressed him close. "If you miss me so much, I can always hang around for a bit longer."

"Y'know, it's been awhile since I've actually seen your girls. Maybe I can just tag along with you and stay around for an hour or two, if that's all right. Ali and the kids started getting ready for bed right when I dropped them off. And I don't think it would make a difference anyway," he said with a shrug,leaning his weight against Edge's side just the slightest in the hopes of taking some of his warmth.

"Ha." Edge chuckled breathily and nodded. "Might be a good idea, too. Arran was pretty excited about seeing you last week." The Evans' had held a festive dinner the week before, Bono was invited, but untimely had plans. Little Arran was in tears by the end of the day, missing her 'uncle' dearly. 

Another hour went by, and the people became even more sparse. It must have been close to around ten o'clock by now. The more they explored, the less there was to see. By the time all they had left to do was look through the Christmas wreath collection, it was clear that it was time to part ways. Larry was the first to take his leave. He wished them all a merry Christmas as he hugged them all. Adam left shortly after that, itching to go home so he could unpack Bono's gift and give it a try.

                 "I guess you and I should probably get going too, huh? Unless you're really wanting to see those wreaths or tell Santa what you want for Christmas," Bono said with a smirk as he watched bassist go, bag swinging happily in his hand. After such a long day, it was astonishing that he wasn't tired. Quite the contrary, actually. He felt like he could stay awake for at least a few more hours. The mounting suspense for tomorrow will generally only do that to a child. But then again, Bono never seemed to act his age.

 

 

 

 


	5. Shits and Gigs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tickling, children, presents... What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good to see people are still interested... Because this is where it gets good...

"If they're not asleep now, I doubt they will at all tonight." Edge muttered, slowly waddling toward his car with Bono pressed to his hip. The children (and Gil) would've been eating all the cupcakes and drinking all the soda. Edge even wondered why he trusted his sister with his children in the first place. She was still one of them.

The two decided to take the one car for the night, and come back later the next day to retrieve the other. Edge started the ignition and drove home, Bono babbling excitedly in the passenger seat. It sort of felt like high-school all over again. The two of them. The way it should be. Bono sporadically switched between topics of conversation, often bringing up memories that triggered a wave of nostalgia.  Like...I dunno. The day he got his first pubic hair or popped his first zit or saw a women naked for the first time, all of which he remembered in frighteningly vivid detail. Ah, the pains surprises that come with pubescence. They're never forgotten.

By the time they had reached Edge's abode, Bono had hardly let up with his garrulous behavior, and he was still telling that story about the nude woman with large sweeping hand gestures and lots of giggling.It was quite a shame that they had gotten home just as he was about describe her breasts. That was really the only part worth telling, but I digress.

                "Ah well, guess you'll just have to hear about that some other time. Don't let the suspense kill you," he joked as he undid his seatbelt and hauled himself out of the car. A calm had descended over the neighborhood, and the only sound to be heard was someone's sprinklers going off across the street as Edge unlocked the front doors and pushed them open.

                Gil had taken her leave, reluctantly handing Edge's children back to him. She completely ignored Bono on her way out, as was her custom. Before Edge could call for his girls, they had popped up from behind the sofa, screamed in terror, bearing their teeth and almost scaring the shit out the poor guitarist. Blue was sitting innocently by the TV, seemingly ignoring the others. Arran almost flipped over the couch, tripping and crawling to her feet with outstretched hands. "Nono!" She squealed, (a name she had called the singer since she was old enough to speak) squeezing Bono and mistakenly shoving her face into his crotch. The singer winced a little bit, trying to laugh it off until Arran laid siege to his manhood once more and head-butted it. He cringed.

"Arran, please stop that." Edge whined, nodding absently to Hollie as she began to babble about the mysterious guitar-shaped package beneath the Christmas tree.

"Sorry Nono." Five-year-old Arran squealed and kissed Bono over the offended fabric of his crotch apologetically, before skidding over to shake up some more presents to guess what the contents might possibly be. That did little to alleviate his pains, unfortunately.

Bono was the nevertheless ecstatic to visit the three of them, after months and months of hardly seeing them. "They've really gotten bigger, Reg. Hollie will be taller than me any day now," he said with a smirk as he wriggled out of his coat and set it on the arm of the sofa. He wasn't prepared to just let Arran off the hook so easily. He snatched her up from behind, tossing her squirming body onto the couch like a fish out of water, and tickled her ruthlessly as she laughed and screamed for mercy. Petty vengeance was his specialty.

Roaring screams and cackles filled the room, Hollie on the floor, squealing with laughter. Blue was still watching TV at this point, and began to cry at all the supposed violence. The little peacemaker didn't like big things like Christmas.

"Oh you poor thing," Edge mumbled, leaning down to pick the two-year-old up and pat her back. "Let's get you to bed. Presents in the morning." Blue didn't complain at this, sucking furiously on her pacifier as Edge took his leave. He put little Blue in her crib, as she insisted not using any other sort of bed, (perhaps so her sisters could not touch her), kissed her goodnight and returned to the living room. Bono was now wrestling Arran as she squealed in delight and yelled in conquerous rage, trying to tickle the singer.

"Under the armpits. And on the neck." Edge called to her, but she seemed too busy trying to shove her cold hands up Bono's shirt. "Hold on, hold on, let me show you how it's done." Edge gently set Arran aside and rubbed his hands, crouching over Bono before delving his hands into his armpits. The singer was probably the most squeamish, ticklish man Edge knew. And the reaction was glorious. Edge's fingers brushed over his neck, a huge grin appearing on his face as he knelt over him, knees planted on either side of the singer's hips. Arran screamed in delight at this, watching her father wrestle her uncle in a battle for the safety of armpits. Edge's heart was steadily gaining pace, breaths becoming quicker as he too, laughed and tickled Bono all over, lithe fingers fluttering over the bare skin of his stomach. He felt a little dizzy, as if all the blood was draining from his head. But that was okay. As long as he didn't know why.

Bono became hysterical with laughter, giggling with wild abandon as he failed to repel the guitarist's onslaught. But there was a component about it all that went far beyond the sheer delirium. His spine tingled every time Edge teased the smooth skin of his neck or fluttered up his shirt with calloused fingertips. It was both exciting and unnerving, and it came to a point where he was unsure if he actually wanted it to stop or not. Frankly, he wouldn't have minded if Edge just stayed where he was, hovering over him with the sound of breathless laughter filling his ears. But he wasn't sure he liked the fact that he liked it, which eventually determined his decisions. Mustering up the remainder of his strength, he managed to slither onto the floor away from Edge's towering form, his body limp and his chest rising and falling rapidly as his laughs began to die down.

                "All right all right, that's enough. Blue will be throwing a fit if we keep up all the racket," he said as he pressed his hands to his chest and felt his heartbeat showing no signs of slowing down.

"Fuck..." Edge gasped, chuckling breathlessly as he rolled onto his back. His heart was hammering wildly beneath the shirt, skin tingling in a way that made a shiver ricochet down his spine. "That.. Aha... Ha..." Unable to speak, Edge turned his face to gaze over at the panting singer. A weird feeling began to pool at the base of his spine, right above his legs. He had a feeling he knew what it was, but it was absolutely preposterous. He had enjoyed it though, and was feeling very much awake. His senses were alert, skin sensitive and gooseflesh... Edge looked down at his arms and frowned for a moment. But was interrupted in his skeptical thought by a loud, weeping cry from Blue’s room.

Edge stumbled to his feet, glancing back one more time to the heaving Bono before shaking out his limbs, shaking his head and returning to his daughter's room.

_‘I... What... What just...’_

 

He was blushing too. Heat rose in his cheeks. Maybe it was because of exertion. Maybe.

"I must be an acrobat..." Edge sang softly to Blue, holding her to his chest and petting her back softly. "To talk like this... And act like that..." He would often sing the song to the child, and somehow, it was the only one of their songs that could calm her young mind. Soon, her thick lashes fluttered closed, arms going limp around her father's neck. "And you can dream... So dream out loud..." He set her down gently, humming the rest of the song as her soft, brown hair fell about her shoulders in the safety and warmth of the crib. "Goodnight, sweetheart." Edge kissed Blue's cheek and tucked a rebelling curl behind her ear.

As Edge left once more to console Blue, Bono lied there on the floor a moment longer. Hollie was already close to falling asleep, her slight figure curled up on the couch as she watched the flickering television through half-closed eyes. Arran was a little calmer now too, and she rested beside him, holding his hand and using his head as a makeshift pillow while her attention was glued to the glowing screen. Over time he caught his breath, but his heart rate had hardly decreased. It may have been going faster now. A tingling sensation shot throughout his whole body, making his limbs feel weak and shaky.

_‘What the fuck is wrong with me? Must be all that adrenaline...shit...’_ he shook his head.

He knew he was lying to himself. But he didn't want to consider any other possibilities. None. He thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps Edge had felt it too, that uncomfortable prickly feeling at the base of the spine that could only signify one thing, but he wouldn't dare ask. Right now, he barely possessed the courage to look him in the eye. With a slight shudder, he sat up, grabbing a pillow off the couch and setting it under Arran's head, and got up to fetch some water out of the kitchen. His legs felt weightless. The uneasiness wouldn't go away. But to feel this way was indescribably enchanting. He leaned over the sink and released a shaky breath.

Edge patted Bono's shoulder as he returned, stacking up the dishes beside the sink. "You can admit to your defeat if you'd like." He muttered with a hint of sarcasm and a chuckle. Bono smirked, but for once did not provide a wry retort. "Oh! Are the..." He looked back. The girls were already pretty much asleep.

"Ah, bless." He smiled. "You wore them out, you God-send, Bono. We can probably relax for the rest of the evening." But there was something off. Something hanging in the air like humidity. Edge could feel it tugging at his limbs, flooding his mind. It was a little too much for him to process. So he decided to play it off the safe way.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah...I'm fine," Bono said dismissively, but cringed at the tone of his own voice. Anyone could tell that he was lying. "It's just...I dunno. That just felt weird. But maybe I'm just imagining it," he said, the words coming out faster than he would have preferred. He shrugged, feigning indifference as he so often did, finished off his water and brushed past the taller man and back into the living room.

"Yeah, I..."

_‘I don't think you are.’_

Edge sighed quietly as Bono brushed past him, looking down at his own hands. He wrung them and concentrated on his breathing. And Bono's words. Edge had felt it too. The unusual, weirdness that flooded his stomach and tingled in his fingertips.

He didn't quite know how to reply to this. So he merely followed Bono back to the living room, looking down to throw a mink-blanket over Arran and Hollie, sound asleep on the sofa together.

"Are you..." He coughed and scratched the back of his head, rubbing his beard and looking up to the singer. "Are you going to head back soon?" Edge didn't really want Bono to leave. He rarely spent time with him that didn't involve partying or... Recording or touring. But now, the humidity was settling on Edge's skin, making it shiver and settle in his spine. Again. Something wasn't right.

Bono had laid himself out on the floor, as the two slumbering girls had taken up most of the space on the couch. He hesitated to answer Edge's question, his mouth opening but the words holding themselves back. He wanted to stay, by all means. Opportunities to just be with each other had become a rarity in the past year. He also wanted to go home, and get away from Edge as quickly as he possibly could, for their own good. That would be the reasonable thing to do. But he never chose the reasonable option.

"I'll stay longer. Ali won't really mind if I'm out late if it's here," he said with a shrug, placing his hands behind his head and diverting his attention to the TV.

It was awkward at first. Bono, for having been so talkative in the car ride over, was deathly quiet. If Edge attempted to speak to him, he would only grunt or hum in response. If he responded at all. Over time, he started to feel a little more at ease. Just a bit. The tension eventually left his body, slowly but surely, and he thought less of what had happened. He was determined to not let it bother him. The only way to solve this was to pretend it had never even happened. It was well after midnight, and he was too tired to really talk, but at least now he was actually using his words. It didn't take long for him to eventually fall asleep, curled up in a ball on the floor and snoring softly into the crook of his arm.

Edge watched Bono fall asleep on the carpet, sighing as he stood up to fetch a blanket for him. He wandered to his own room, pulling off the duvet from the bed and waddling back to the living room to wrap it around Bono. Edge gently laid a pillow under the singer's head and stood back.

There was something now. Something when he looked at him. As Edge stood, hands in pockets and tired eyes wandering over Bono's delicate features, he hoped that _something_ would go away. And soon. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't right. It couldn't be.

He left the living-room and returned to his own one, flinging all of his clothes to the floor and draping another, smaller blanket over himself as he crawled onto the bed. He curled up. And that feeling soon returned. Not the weird, Bono one, the other one. The one that manifested itself in Edge's stomach and mind. That same loneliness, anxiety and perpetual tiredness. And somehow, somewhere in Edge, the two, strange feelings, Bono and all, had started to merge. To become one.

In the hours that followed, Bono slept little and woke often. He couldn't sustain restful sleep for more than thirty minutes at a time. He could get comfortable, and spent more time tossing, turning, and throwing off the blanket than actually sleeping. Being stuck on the floor certainly didn't help, though surely no one would have minded him claiming an empty bedroom for the night. It wouldn't have mattered either way. The physical conditions weren't the problem. He'd slept in plenty of odd places before. It was that /thing/, that fucking thing he thought he had gotten over before he fell asleep. But he had only suppressed it temporarily. Now, with no television or children to distract him, he couldn't keep himself from thinking about it. The mere consideration of wanting something more than a platonic relationship with Edge was maddening. That would ruin everything, ruin their friendship and their marriages and their families. It may even sow seeds of conflict within the band. God forbid any of that would happen.

He couldn't be blamed for being in denial. Being attracted to your best friend in a suggestive manner, and a man no less, didn't really pass off as being normal. And so it kept him awake most of the night. He went outside to smoke at around three, which did very little to calm his nerves, but anything helped. He went through two cigarettes before he decided he needed to go home. So he headed back inside, reeking of cigarettes, and quietly slipped into Edge's bedroom.

"Edge," his voice was shot, and came out as an unpleasant rasp. He cleared his throat. "Edge," he spoke louder and clearer this time, and reached out to shake his shoulder. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm going home now. Merry Christmas and all that shite."

Edge squinted in the darkness and looked over his shaken shoulder, rubbing his eyes and swallowing. It must have been almost four in the morning or something. He had struggled a little to get to sleep in the first place, mostly because of the cold, but in part, in contemplation. He had tried to avoid such rapt thought, but being alone with naught but the ticking of the clock to lull him to sleep, he had no choice but to conflict with himself. Edge didn't actually know what to do. Again. How could he find answers if he had nobody to ask?

"Oh, okay I..." He sat up a little, pulling the blanket up so it covered up to his stomach. "Are you sure? I mean, it's quite late. Or early." Edge mentally scowled at his own, nervously shaken words.

                ‘ _He's your best friend. Nothing more. He can't be. So get your shit together.’_

"Do you need a ride?" Edge reached over the side of the bed to pick up his discarded shirt, blanket slipping a little around his waist as he did so. "Your car is still at the grounds." No taxis or busses would be out at this time, either. Four in the morning on Christmas in _Ireland_? People would either be too hammered or fast asleep to care.

Bono visibly cringed, his face was fortunately covered in a deep shadow. "No...I think..." He trailed off abruptly, as what rationality he had left made its presence known.

_‘How the fuck do you plan on getting home then?’_

"Well, if ye really want to, that's fine," he said resolutely, even as his mind continued to grapple with the proposal. He stood there a moment longer, his eyes tracing the silhouette of Edge's wiry figure. A toxic feeling bubbled up in the pit of his stomach, and he reluctantly turned away. He grabbed his coat where it had been left in the living room, gave Hollie and Arran soft pecks to the forehead, and silently headed outside. His body drooped with drowsiness as the consequences of no sleep began to catch up with him. There was an incessant tingling in his fingers that refused to go away, and it was enough to drive him mad with hopeless frustration.

Edge quickly made himself decent before following the singer out into the winter cold. "Let's go." He slipped into the driver's seat and started the car, shivering at the cold and rubbing his hands together to provide just a little warmth. He took a bite out of the apple he’d snagged out of the kitchen and waited for Bono to get in before pulling out of the driveway and onto the road. A short drive. But certainly too long a distance to walk in this weather.

Edge glanced over briefly. Bono looked more morose than ever, tired rings purpling under his eyes and lips drawn wearily. He felt the need to ask. But didn't, of course. Rational Edge wouldn't ask at this point. Rational Edge would keep driving, letting Bono to his own thoughts. And maybe later, he'd ask. While not in the danger of being stabbed at by the tired singer's often bitter, sharp words and remarks.

The time it took to get between their houses thankfully wasn't much. But even something as simple as being in the car together strained Bono. The silence between them was built up like a brick wall, immovable and keeping them, in a sense, separated. Distant. Bono wanted to say something, anything to clear up the awkward tension hanging in the atmosphere, but the words were caught up in his throat every time he tried.

That was how you knew it was bad. When Bono was at a loss for words, one could be certain that something was seriously wrong. If someone didn't grow a pair really soon and speak up, things were bound to go wrong. The lack of communication was making him irritable. In reality, they were only a few feet apart. He felt oceans away.

They reached Bono's home some time later, with no progress having been made. As Edge stopped in front of the house, Bono suddenly felt he couldn't move. They couldn't keep avoiding this forever. Better to confront the situation now before it caused them any more stress. So he stayed in the car.

"Listen, Edge. I'm not really sure what the fuck is going on, but I don't like it," he said, sinking down in his seat and crossing his arms. "I mean... I know what's going on, but I don't know why... It doesn't matter. I just don't want us being like this, all remote," he said, wringing his hands together. It wasn't an easy task being so open about the subject. "Can we just act as if nothing's happened? Or at least ignore it?" He cast a glance at the guitarist through pleading eyes. It was something neither of them would likely be able to do, but he just wanted an answer, to know that he wasn't alone.

Edge felt a little more guilty, word by word. He didn't want this to be happening. But he couldn't possibly ignore it. That... It was something he couldn't do. It was instinct. Instinct to hunt it down, pull it apart, find out what it was. But the sincerity in Bono's eyes was enough to tip him back into reality. He glanced down at the wheel for a moment. And then, returning his tired gaze to Bono, he nodded. It was a brief nod, eyes remaining in contact and a deep, quiet sigh escaping his nostrils. Bono wasn't alone. He never really was, but certainly not in this. "I'll see you soon."

Once Bono had left the vehicle and safely entered his own home, Edge returned to his. The girls were still asleep as he arranged a few more presents underneath the pine Christmas tree. By the end of the day, Hollie would have her own Gibson acoustic, Arran with a pair of Bono's sunglasses and a new barbie-doll, and little Blue would be gifted with the family's first pet, a little golden retriever named Iris from the Dublin pound.

It was time to reset. Aislinn would be back by midday. And Edge had missed her. After all, she was his wife. And he loved her. Or perhaps that's what he told himself. Over and over. Until the delusion became reality.


	6. Packet by Packet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bono doesn't really like flying. Adam likes spoons. Sex-crazy 15 year old girls try to pull their pants down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of a filler, but kind of funny. 
> 
> Oh and *HEY*
> 
> It's good to get some feedback once-in-a-while, so... Go for it.

Christmas, and the subsequent months that followed before the tour were some of the most emotionally grueling Bono had ever endured. He suspected any moment he'd be going off the deep end. The repression of such a strong desire was so insufferable, and it didn't get better over time. It got far far worse, and the effects of his stress and pain were painfully clear. He was always tired, and when he wasn't fighting for sleep, he was drinking or smoking. But, ya know, other than that, he seemed his wholly normal self, all smiles and attitude. It was a good thing he was such a credulous liar. Ali only ever asked if something was bothering him two or three times.

Things weren't very different when interacting with Edge. Bono did his best to play off the immense shame and need he felt whenever he was near the guitarist, and it worked. Sort of. He could look him in the eye when they spoke, touch him as he had always done without eliciting any sort of reaction. They could pretend as much as they fancied, but it was always there, that unending tension that was powerful enough to crush them. They could only hold it up over their heads for so long.

Besides New Year's, the weeks before tour began were uneventful. Bono began to stay home more often. Being with his family made him feel guilty, but it was the only place he knew he was safe from his temptations.

February finally arrived, which meant it was time for Zoo TV to commence. The first show was tomorrow in Florida, which meant today would be devoted to traveling to the United States. Bono felt torn between the grief of leaving Ali and the children, and the excitement which always comes with the beginning of tour. So, after bidding a long goodbye to his family (it was prolonged since Jordan was intent on holding onto his leg), he took a taxi to the airport, where the others were probably already waiting. He was always the last to board the jet. And usually the first to get out; he wasn't keen on flying.

January wasn't easy for The Edge. But it wasn't horrible. After the incident involving Bono around Christmas time, Edge had, more or less, snapped back into reality. Things with Aislinn were going much smoother, the attitude looking up. But this had not been achieved without effort. Edge had sat down and talked to his wife, telling her everything. Except about Bono. That didn't need to be aired. She'd likely not care enough to listen to him about the singer anyway. Aislinn said her piece too, and gave Edge some time to think. They decided to try harder. Easier said than done, but for the children... They had to try.

Edge sat at a cafe at the Dublin airport, rain pouring down from the heavens, as it often did. He sipped at his mocha and gazed over in his stool as Bono entered the departure lounge. Edge waved, smiled, put his coffee down and got up to go greet the singer. He had dressed in a tight print tee, skinny black jeans and some old converse he had found lying around. And of course, a beanie. One of his many gifts from Bono.

"Hey, how you doin'?" Edge embraced Bono cautiously, but not too cautiously, eager to hear from him for the first time in a little over a month. The two had been abundantly busy with tour preparation. Hadn't had time to catch up at all. So was Edge's case anyway.

Larry and Adam  waved briefly, one leaning over the other's shoulder in rapt discussion. Likely over motorcycle brands. Adam would often vouch for the cool, chunky looking one and its nice lights. Larry went for speed, size, shape, contour, brands and all that shit. The argument was hopeless in its own little way.

Bono tensed up, expecting at any moment to become nauseous, but it never came. He had been dreading this moment for days. He had suspected that wretchedness would return as soon as he spotted Edge. But it didn’t. He stopped mid-walk, so taken by surprise. The anxiety was gone, in an instant. His heart skidded to a slower pace, his nerves calmed, and the fear he'd felt was replaced by relief. He was glad to see him. He had wanted to see him. Was his mind playing practical jokes on him?

He almost forgot to return Edge's hasty embrace as he stood there transfixed, but soon his thoughts returned to the present. "Oh, I've been...fine, I s'pose. Just tired," he answered plainly, a weak smile spreading across his face as he gazed at his friend. There was something there, all right. The yearning hadn't gone away, only the fear. Or maybe the fear was still there but after all this time he'd grown accustomed to it. There could be no decent explanation for it, but he couldn't care less. It was gone, for the time being. He felt a teensy bit more like himself.

"How's Aislinn holding up? Is it getting any better?" He queried with a raise of the eyebrow. He had made sure to phone Edge as often as he'd dare to check up on how he and his wife were doing. Both he and Ali had been happy to hear they were going to try and make things work, Bono's covetous wants aside. That's the way life was meant to work.  

"Better. Much better. We're gonna call every second day. Councillor says that a repetitive schedule will help." Edge grinned, hanging an arm around Bono's shoulder. They had a lot of work to do over the next few months. America. The country of old, the heart of rock and roll, sunsets, deserts and bustling, bright cities. Edge admired the country, but not nearly as much as Bono did. During the esteemed Rattle and Hum American leg, the lead singer had connected with the land in a way that made even Edge question his spiritual place in the world.

But now came Zoo TV. The boys had less than a week to settle at the first stop in Florida, to prepare and rehearse, before it was show time. And that's where it was supposed to get 'fun', right?

Edge looked down at his watch. It was about a half-hour to departure. They'd be on the plane in five to ten minutes. Edge was prepared. Bono hated flying. Ever since the first American tour, he had developed somewhat of a phobia of flying, refusing to eat at some points, and often concentrating on not dropping out of the sky and into the cold waters below. Edge hoped that had all changed by now. He had presumed it had, anyway. But Bono was Bono. And there could be nothing done about that.

It wasn't long after Bono's arrival to the gate that the plane was ready to be boarded. To salvage what money they could, they decided against securing a private plane and instead bought tickets for tickets for a small, business class jet, which was arguably just as good and would certainly suffice. There weren't many other passengers, and most of them were businessmen. Trips between Florida and Dublin weren't very common, after all. One by one, they made their way through the gate and out across the asphalt landing strip. As Bono ascended the stairs that led up to the plane, he took one last look back at solid ground and sighed longingly. Too bad he didn't bring his happy pills. Ali wouldn't allow it. She knew he'd probably take one too many, and God knows how that might affect his body.

There were four seats near the back just for the band, so Edge took the window one in the first of their selected row, sliding his day bag up into a compartment. The rest of their stuff would be waiting for them at the hotel in Florida. Edge didn't trust the transport system. So he always carried his precious Strat nearby. He slid its case under the seat and sat down with a grunt.

"Fuck, I don't like this, Edge," he said as he placed a vice-like grip on the armrests. They hadn't so much as moved an inch along the runway and he had already begun to feel panicked. This wasn't exciting to him in the way roller coasters were. You always knew what to expect on roller coasters! You could see all the inclines and declines and twists and turns before they occurred. Not so with airplanes. Turbulence was a sneaky little bastard.

"Adam." Edge quipped, turning around in his seat to see the drummer and bassist sitting back with their Walkmans plugged in. Adam removed his headset and raised a brow. "Food." Edge put out his hand and was rewarded with a few packs of lollies, chips and two bottles of water. It'd be enough to sustain Bono for most of the trip before he had a nervous breakdown. Edge handed some packets to the singer as he sat down, but looked at him with a stern point of the finger. "You know the rules. Packet by packet. You'll make yourself sick."

 "Yes, Ma," Bono sneered sarcastically as he twisted open a bottle of water. He loathed those heinous rules. And never followed them. During take-off and the thirty minutes that followed to gain altitude, Bono was at his worst, clutching Edge's arm tightly and spewing pessimistic thoughts under his breath all the while. Once that initial fear had subsided, he was practically fine. The occasional jolt of the plane would make him jump, but the flight was relatively smooth all the way through. He ate his candies (sneaking in a few extra when Edge was looking the other way), and that supplied him with a rush of roughly two or three hours of energy before he crashed. He snoozed peacefully the remainder of the way, leaning his head on Edge's shoulder and cuddling his arm.

The singer’s breath tickled the skin of Edge’s arm, whole weight leant against him. His head was actually quite heavy as it was, full of lyrics and fascinations and even, quite possibly _, a brick_. Edge swallowed thickly and tried not to concentrate on Bono's soft lashes or moist, parted lips. He tried to imagine Aislinn's face instead. It was unsuccessful.

"Aw," Adam whispered, leaning over Edge's seat. "Look at that, Reg."

Edge glanced up with a silent plea. Adam cooed and reached down to stick a plastic spoon in Bono's mouth; who incidentally, didn't even flinch. Adam left it there, giggling. Edge grinned and shook his head, the spoon just... _Hanging there_... In Bono's mouth. Larry snickered behind, shaking his head. The trick would never get old.

Nine and half debilitating hours later, the plane finally began to descend into the States. It was later afternoon, the scarlet sun stark against a pinkish blue sky. Florida was a beautiful state, especially in the winter when the humidity wasn't so taxing. Beaches with white soft sand and pleasant waters fringed the deep everglades in the central area of the state. Lakeland, the city they were performing in, was about halfway between Tampa and Orlando, on the western side.

The plane skidded to a halt upon reaching the ground, wheels screeching as it fought to slow down. This was enough to wake Bono, who nearly choked on the plastic spoon in the process. The snickering behind him belied who the culprit was. "I wouldn't sleep too soundly tonight, if I were the two of you. It'll be knives for the both of you, and not plastic ones either," he warned them, though it was all in good fun. Maybe. It depended on whether he could a hold of some metal knives or not.

Once the pilot had cleared the passengers for exiting the aircraft, people stood up, stiff-legged and weary, and began to file out of the plane one by one. The four waited for everyone else to clear out before they started to collect their things and make their way out. Having landed safely, Bono was weak with relief, kneeling down to kiss the runway as they stepped of the last of the stairs.

"There's supposed to be a car waiting for us in front of the airport. They said they'd get our luggage for us," Adam said, as he took the lead and guided the others to where they had to be.

"Looks like it." Edge muttered, bag in hand as he stepped off the runway and into the airport foyer. And that's when it really started. Fans were screaming, waving about, cameras flashing at Edge's premature, sleepy eyes, guards trying their hardest to keep back the hoards.

"Who told them we were comin' here?" Larry had grumbled, pushing past a few squealing teenagers, who just happened to be boys, vying for Larry like women.

Edge laughed at this. "The papers, Laurence. Now tend to your fans," He grinned, signing a _Joshua Tree_. "Or they'll follow you to the hotel."

Bono, who was often the most ecstatic when it came to greeting the fans and meeting them, seemed much more subdued than usual, likely due to the overall lack of vitality he’d had in the past months. It was strange to see him acting that way, but he could hardly be blamed. Not to mention, they’d just endured a nine hour flight.

                  After some time, the four made it through the first barricade of fans and then into the awaiting taxi to drive them to the next destination. Edge didn't know where the hell the hotel actually was, nor the name or size. Bono likely did. Or Adam. Not Larry though. He rarely bothered to go to tour meetings, as it were. But grateful to be off the plane and heading toward safety, Edge settled into the backseat with no problem, no questions asked. Adam and Larry sat either side of him, Bono in the front, as the other two started snickering and bickering over the spoon. Edge smiled, reaching down into a seat pocket to pull out a brochure. "Oh look," he mumbled. "Us." Indeed, U2 were displayed on the front of the leaflet, sporting the tour details and band logo. And inside, the venues for the whole leg of the tour.

_‘Mm. So people can follow us around and try to pull our pants down in the hotel foyer.’_

Bono spent most of the ride over glancing through the pamphlet Edge had found. The enormity of the whole tour dawned upon him in that moment. They'd be doing over a hundred shows all across the globe. This would be their life for about the next two years.

They reached the hotel shortly, piled out of the car, checked in, and were given the keys to their room. They'd be staying in Lakeland a few days, almost a week before their first show, and so had purchased a suite. They typically shared two hotel rooms between them, for the sake of saving a bit of extra cash.

Up in the suite, their luggage had already been delivered and placed into each individual room. Bono wasted no time in finding his things, claiming the room it was in and falling asleep. They'd start rehearsing tomorrow, and he'd need to retain as much energy as possible.

Edge found his own baggage, tossed messily onto the spacious double in the corner of the room. He opened the curtains and sighed, standing back as the sun began to set beneath the city's landscape. It was quite beautiful, as Florida often was. Aislinn often talked about moving there once they had both grown old and weary. And once Edge had quit U2. But Edge wasn't going to quit U2. Not any time soon, anyway. U2 was an adventure. A life-long journey, and he wasn't willing to let it go just yet. And anyway, they had only just _made it_. As in, earned enough money to pay their bills. The ultimate goal. Edge didn't know his next one. The next goal. To make a whole tour without getting too seriously fucked up, maybe.

He sat himself down on the edge of the bed, kicking off his chucks and flinging his cap across the room. Edge undid the tight bun in his hair, the wavy, brown strands brushing over his shoulders. He then fell asleep with little difficulty; thoughts lying with his children and Aislinn, in the ambient, distant hum moving of cars and busses.

This was gonna be one long tour.

 


End file.
